


just because you won’t cry doesn’t mean you’re alright

by Saral_Hylor



Series: the mortar will hold. it's the bricks that are crumbling [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Hurt Steve, M/M, Minor Violence, Not Captain America: The Winter Soldier Compliant, Past Rape/Non-con, Protective Natasha, Rape Aftermath, Steve Feels, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Steve Rogers is not fine, Tony Feels, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-08
Updated: 2014-11-08
Packaged: 2018-02-24 13:39:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2583365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saral_Hylor/pseuds/Saral_Hylor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He'd built walls, around himself and inside his mind, to stop the memories best forgotten from coming back to the surface. It was okay that Tony knew, because they didn't talk about it, and not talking about it worked. Ignoring it worked. Pretending that he was fine worked. </p>
<p>Then one thing, one random attack by ordinary civilians, and the walls started to crumble.</p>
            </blockquote>





	just because you won’t cry doesn’t mean you’re alright

**Author's Note:**

> So somehow a one-shot that I wrote 12 months ago decided that it needed a sequel. 
> 
> And maybe the possibility to more stories in this series. It looks like it might be going in the direction of a road (not) to recovery.

He heard the door open but didn’t look around, letting his fist hit the punching bag again, knuckles twinging slightly where the bruised and split skin hadn’t quite healed.

He could feel the presence of someone behind him, a few metres back, and the fact that he’d barely heard their approaching gave him an indication of who it was.

“They’re all going to make it, in case you were wondering.” Natasha sounded too casual, voice relaxed to the point he knew it was faked. “Fury and Coulson have kept the media away, they’re probably going to cover the whole incident over. S.H.I.E.L.D. is good at that.”

Steve didn’t respond, putting fist to leather again and again, trying to dredge up some form of guilt or relief, but coming up empty.

“You should report to medical, get those injuries looked at.” There was a pause, like Natasha knew she had to say something but wasn’t sure how. She let out a short breath. “And Fury wants you to have a psych eval.”

He clenched his jaw, feeling the tug at bruised skin across his cheek, knowing it would be faded within another hour or two. “I’m fine.” The words rattled past his teeth, harsh and heavy, feeling like betrayal and tasting like lies, but he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

There was a pause, silence broken only by the sound of each punch – right fist, left, right, right, left – the creak of leather and the metallic grating of the chain on the hook it hung from.

“Steve,” his name was a sigh, sliding across Natasha’s lips with far more emotion and meaning crammed into it than he knew how to hear. “You put four civilians in hospital. You smashed a man’s face in against a wall. That’s a lot of things, but it’s not ‘fine’.”

He could hear the crunch of bone and cartilage echoing in his memory, the scream gurgling full of blood, all drowned out at the time by the drumming of his own pulse inside his head and the frantic panic that had been clawing at his skin, the desperate need to not be overpowered again. He heard her footsteps retreating, deliberately louder than her natural tread, part of him grateful that she was leaving him alone, the other part wanting to reach out and stop her.

He didn’t.

He heard the door slide open again, the whir of mechanical brakes holding it in place for longer than usual, and without even looking he knew Natasha had stopped in the doorway.

“I called Pepper. She’s sending Tony home. He’s going to be back as soon as possible. Maybe you’ll talk to him, if no one else.”

///

He should have known it was Tony, it shouldn’t have surprised him at all. The rough pounding of feet down the hallway, nothing confident and purposeful like usual, but panicked and hasty. They came skidding to a halt outside the door to his room and there was silence for a moment before a tentative knock on the door. He didn’t reply, didn’t acknowledge the knock at all, just kept staring at the blank page before him, pencil gripped between his fingers.

The door opened, a few steps inside the door and a rough intake of breath. “Shit, Steve.”

“What are you doing here, Tony, thought you had meetings.” He gritted the words out, still not looking up from the page, wishing that he’d drawn something just so that he’d have a good enough reason for not looking at Tony. A reason that didn’t have to do with not wanting Tony to really see him.

“Nat called.” Tony replied straight away, words clipped and short as he took a few steps closer, as though Natasha calling explained everything; it probably did, Natasha had worked for Tony for a while, she didn’t just call him away from Stark Industries business for no reason.

“She shouldn’t have bothered you.” Guilt gnawed at the corner of his mind; he hated feeling like a burden and the worry in Tony’s few words wasn’t about to convince him that he wasn’t one.

Tony took a step closer, close enough that Steve could feel the air shifting between their bodies, could smell the fading cologne, the slight hint of sweat and jet fuel that still lingered on Tony’s skin and clothes. There was a pull, a want, a need, to turn around and reach out to Tony, to try again to seek something like comfort in another person. But it wasn’t just any person. It was Tony – painfully patient and cautious ever since that time in the elevator at S.H.I.E.L.D. – that he wanted the reach out to, but the memories, that he’d tried to banish from his mind, kept stopping him.

“I’m glad she did.” The words came out in a breathy rush, like he hadn’t really meant to say them. “You going to look at me, sweetheart? Show me what damage they did?”

He didn’t really want Tony to see, bruising and stitches made him feel weak, and he didn’t want Tony to see him like that. He’d only glanced at his reflection thirty minutes before, when he’d finally left the gym and showered. He was sure that the bruises had faded even since then, the shadow across his cheek from the impact of a fist, the split in his scalp from hitting the wall. There was still the faint ache in his ribs from where he’d felt at least two of them crack from the impact of the baseball bat. Before he’d fought back, before the panic had stopped him from pulling his punches.

A hand touched his shoulder, fingers barely brushing against the fabric of his shirt before he had flinched away, body jerking out of the chair and away from his desk. He was on his feet, turned to face his opponent, hands raised in fists and the plan of how to defend himself, including the number of steps it would take to get to his shield, already formed in his head before he registered that it was Tony standing in front of him, hand still hanging in the air where it had meant to comfort not attack.

He could see the flicker of hurt in Tony’s eyes, knew that every time he didn’t trust him the genius took it personally, and his hands dropped back to his sides. Tony’s eyes flickered across his face, surveying the physical damage and searching for that which was hidden deeper. Eyebrows raises slightly in question, Tony stepped a little closer, hand reaching up slowly, hovering in the air, inviting not demanding.

He could feel his breath rattling unsteadily in his lungs, but he pushed past that, taking a step forward to meet Tony, letting callused fingers brush over the bruise on his cheek.

“I should have been there. I’m sorry.” There was too much guilt in Tony’s voice, too much blame and responsibility, like somehow everything was his fault. Even the things that had happened before he was born.

“I’m not defenceless, Stark!” He could feel the anger and panic shifting beneath his skin, the memories battered against the wall that he’d locked them behind. He saw the emotions flickering across Tony’s face but didn’t know how to read the concern. It looked too close to pity.

Tony’s brow pulled down, his mouth opening and closing once before the words tumbled out. “You were back then.”

It was another reminder, another crack in the block between him and the memories. For a moment he could feel the grip of the hands pinning him down, smell the whiskey soaked breath from seventy years ago and a whole world away. The fresher memory was there, only hours old, a re-enactment, a different ending written in place of the last. The ending where he’d hospitalised four men without even really trying. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

“But what if I want to? What’s the good of being a super hero if you can’t protect the ones you love?”

Love. The word felt too sharp, too painful to really contemplate. It looked like the echo of it in the room hurt Tony to hear, he could see the thoughts processing, almost hear the denial before it came, the quick joking voice taking back what he’d said and covering it up with some sort of clever comment.

“I don’t need you!”

Tony jerked back, his face shutting down, eyes going blank, recoiling like he’d been physically hit. “Guess that was a truth just waiting to be told.”

There was the after taste of the words on his tongue, bitter and sharp enough to hurt. The hollow place inside him filled up with guilt, stronger than what he’d tried to dredge up over those four men, lapping at the sides until it overflowed. The pre-emptive feeling of loss tugged tightly at his throat, clenching around his heart as Tony took a step backwards towards the door, his whole body rigid as he pivoted to walk away.

Steve reached out, hand closing around Tony’s wrist and pulling back so harshly, desperate, that he heard the other man’s shoulder joint grating bone against bone. He saw the wince of pain flicker across Tony’s face, but the apology that he tried to form words for was drowned out by a short noise, as strangled and as desperate as his grip. Tony didn’t turn back to face him, he stood facing the door, shoulders a tense line beneath his shirt. It seemed only natural to reach out with his other hand and smooth it across the hard line of muscle, fingers curling around the back of his neck and just feeling, the heat of skin beneath his touch, the faint pulse fluttering at the edge of his finger tips and the slight bob of Tony’s throat as he swallowed, echoing through to the back of his neck.

“Don’t leave me.”

It wasn’t an apology. It wasn’t reassurance that he wasn’t going to lose it and hurt someone again. It wasn’t nearly enough to even begin to make up for what he’d just said. It was desperate, a plea, the giving in to the urge to not be alone.

“Please.”

There was a moment, a heartbeat felt heavy through his fingertips against Tony’s pulse, when he thought he was about to lose everything all over again.

Then Tony’s shoulders slumped just a fraction and the air he’d been holding rushing out in a strangled sigh. “Fuck, Steve, like I could actually leave you. Even if you mean it, what you said, because Captain America doesn’t tell lies, so you must have meant it, I wouldn’t really leave.”

“Steve Rogers tells lies.” It was all he could think to say. There was the echo of _don’t leave me, I didn’t mean it_ underneath, the words he’d said. With great effort he loosened his grip and let his hands fall away from Tony. It was belated, but he knew he had to let go, even if he didn’t want to. He knew what it was like to be pinned down, held in place, panic curled at the memory, and he didn’t want Tony to feel like that. Not with him.

Tony turned around, flexing his shoulder slightly, making the guilt gnaw a little harder. Brown eyes searched his, tracking over his face again. “Did you mean it?”

He shook his head, aborting half way through to nodding not really sure which statement was in question. “I don’t want you to leave.”

Tony’s shoulders relaxed further and he huffed a breath out that was almost a relieved laugh, his lips tugging up a little in the corner. “Steve Rogers better not be lying to me now.”

He tried to mirror the smile, shaking his head again. “Not this time. Did you mean it?”

The slight smile turned to a full on smirk, confident and camera ready, an expression that made Steve’s stomach turn, it was so forced and fake. “Which part are you asking about, sweetheart? The bit about Captain America not lying, or the bit about me not leaving, because you know, they are both pretty true and meaningful.”

“The other part.” He could feel his throat closing over with each second Tony gave him that slightly empty smile, panic dancing behind his eyes. He didn’t need to say which part he was referring to, he knew they could both hear it still echoing around the room.

_Love._

Tony paled a fraction, swallowed heavily, throat bobbing, but then nodded. “Yeah, I meant it.” He added belatedly.

The room felt too warm, but it wasn’t stifling. It felt like comfort. Like somehow things would be okay. Not straight away, but eventually. They could work on it.

“Me too.” He hadn’t really thought about it before then. But Tony was different. If there was ever someone who deserved to be loved, it was Tony. And maybe he could do it, maybe he could love him and there didn’t have to be anything else other than that.

He tried to focus on Tony’s relieved smile, the way that he stepped slowly closer, giving him time to adjust before kissing him. He tried to think about how he wanted desperately for them to be okay.

He tried not to think about how, inside, the walls were crumbling and the memories wouldn’t stop falling through.


End file.
